


Hammer Time

by Quality_Street_Sin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, F/M, Humor, Object Insertion, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toy Mjolnir, The hammer is not his penis, semi-sentient Mjölnir, the hammer is literal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 04:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10959534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quality_Street_Sin/pseuds/Quality_Street_Sin
Summary: In which Darcy gets creative with Thor's hammer. There's more than one use for a tool.





	Hammer Time

It feels like stealing. It _is_ stealing.

Darcy’s flushed and halfway to undressed, peeling off her jeans with the sort of urgency she hasn’t had since she was a bundle of hormones and hornieness in high school. She’s staring at her boss’s boyfriend’s body as the denim hits the hardwood floor, and she can’t _wait_.

Thor’s shirtless and grinning in a way that makes her giddy; he has the body of a god because he is one, and it’s all Darcy can do to keep her hands out of her panties and wait for him to take the lead.

“So…” she says, because they’ve got to hash out the logistics of this. “Jane’s not enough.”

She moves closer, because there’s a point where _attraction_ becomes very literal, and they’re far past that. Thor moves in kind, one warm hand moving to her bare waist.

“Don’t think that Jane has failed me,” Thor says, and Darcy’s not sure where to put her hands or her eyes, because there’s a smörgåsbord of sexy god-bod sitting on the bed in front of her, and it’s all a little overwhelming. “I’m just seeking... _variety_.”

The hammer is on the bedside table.

Darcy is having _ideas_ about the hammer.

And then she’s not having ideas about the hammer, because she’s not having ideas about anything, because she’s kissing a god. His beard is pricking slightly, but that’s only adding to the experience at this point. It makes it feel more real.

Darcy’s following her instincts, which are leading her lower and lower. She trails kisses down from Thor’s lips to his collarbone to his chest. Her tongue finds the nub of his nipple, and she finds a way to make him gasp. She takes a note.

There’s a dusting of fine, blonde hair below his navel, thicker on the midline, trailing to…

Pants.

Right, pants. Ruiners of fun across the nine realms. Darcy looks up.

“Take those off,” she says, and there’s a commanding tone in her voice that she probably shouldn’t try to use on someone with the muscle mass of The Rock and the ability to summon lightning.

Thor _blushes_ , honest to god blushes like a boy being kissed on prom night, and the fun-ruining pants are suddenly much tighter. Darcy feels something like pride, and shifts so she can focus on his nipples again, leaving the mighty Thor fumbling to get out of his trousers. He’s either very sensitive or new to this. Maybe Jane just pathologically ignores his nipples- if she does, Darcy can’t really blame him for seeking out someone else.

Once Thor’s pantless, Darcy takes a second to observe. It’s not an _unimpressive_ cock. Objectively, it’s a _very_ impressive cock. But it looks surprisingly human, anatomy-wise. She’d been worried that it might have two heads, or glow, or some other alien quirk of biology .

“Am I...disappointing you?” Thor asks, softly.

“Aw, of course not,” Darcy’s kissing to _comfort_ , after that, exploring his inner thighs with her mouth.

Again, her eyes dart to the hammer.

“So,” she breathes, and even though she’s kneeling between his legs, she feels completely in charge- “What exactly do you want from me?”

Thor cups her face.

“What would you prefer?”

Darcy stands, and walks towards the end table with hope in her heart and ridiculous, filthy ideas in her head.

She grasps the handle of the hammer. It’s thick, built for a bigger hand then hers. The leather is soft; good craftsmanship or magic, Darcy doesn’t know enough about making hammers to judge that.

She lifts. And almost hits herself in the face with a good ten pounds of metal, because she wasn’t expecting it to _move_.

Thor stares at her for a moment, and she wonders if she’s made a huge mistake. Maybe Thor feels about his hammer the way some men feel about their cars; maybe-

He smiles, and it’s the most lustful expression Darcy has ever seen.

“You’re...creative,” he purrs, and it sends a wave of warmth buzzing through Darcy’s body. They’re doing this, _dear god_ …

“Who first?” She’s back across the room in an instant, kissing, tempting, allowing a hand daringly close to his cock, the other dancing across his chest. His blue eyes met hers, electric and aroused. This man, this god, this mountain of muscle- is yielding to her. Putty in her hands.

It’s a delectable feeling.

“It’s my hammer,” Thor protests, weakly. Darcy runs a finger along the length of his cock, teasing.

"Your hammer decided that I'm worthy," she reminds him. Her heartbeat is exploding in her ears. "I think I should get to pick."

"If you insist," Thor says. His voice is a low, rough, thing, barely composed.

Darcy moves back, considers it for a second.

"You first," she decides. She's done stuff in this vein before. Not with enchanted hammers, granted, but it's not her first attempt. Thor smiles, and they move to the bed. The sheets are luxuriously fancy, like silk or satin, so smooth her brain couldn't really process it. But the sheets don't matter, here.

Darcy hefts the hammer.

"Hm." It's heavy, and she's not sure how to handle it. She grasps it by the head, trying to find a comfortable way to keep the handle pointing out and manipulate it. She ends up holding it with a palm pressed to each embellished side, like she's picking up a hot pan.

Her grip is made irrelevant as Thor- for a lack of a better word- presents, propped on his elbows and spread knees, and she almost drops the hammer anyway.

All of the hair on his body is golden.

Darcy begins with a finger because, really, it's only polite, and she's pretty sure Jane will actually kill her if she breaks her boyfriend. The half-stifled moan she gets in response bolsters both her arousal and her confidence. One finger becomes two, and it occurs to her that Thor could probably clench with enough force to hurt her. She keeps teasing anyway, feeling around in the warmth and reveling in his responses. Thor's at her mercy here, and it is _awesome_.

The hammer has a strap on the end that she's not quite sure what to do with, so she just lets it be; when she presses the end of the handle into him, there's resistance, but not too much. There's been no suggestion of lube, so she assumes that Thor has a magic, self-lubricating warhammer and tries not to think about.

She doesn't really have to try, because she's distracted almost immediately. Thor's reaction to the hammer is a lower-body gun show; there's a mesmerising wave of movement as a shiver runs through him. Darcy wants to touch those gorgeous, rippling muscles- and she does. She runs her fingers over his ass, his thighs, his back.

She doesn't care what Jane thinks, anymore.

Darcy braces her feet against the headboard, the hammer against her pelvis, and gives an experimental thrust, guiding with her hands. Judging by the sound Thor makes, it's a good course of action. It's desperate, primal, like he can't help it. All of godly elegance is gone now. It's the most attractive thing Darcy's ever seen.

She wants to see the look on his face; she tells him to turn over. Tingling heat pools between her legs when she sees him, every bit of his body language _begging_ , his hands fisted at his sides. She has to give up her thrusting, but it’s worth it. The edges of the hammer were digging into her hip bones anyway.

Thor’s hands, unoccupied, wander towards his cock, and she slaps at his wrist.

“Hey now,” she says, sternly, and watching this pattern emerge is utterly delectable. It’s all a little ridiculous, and certainly wouldn't sound this hot on paper.

Thor just about _pouts_ at her. Music thrums faintly through the wall. He’s sweaty and dishevelled, his hair a tousled halo on the expanse of his pillow. Darcy never pictured him so… Obedient. Vulnerable.

It’s a pleasant surprise, to say the least.

They find a position that works for the both of them- Darcy clasps the hammer between her legs, leaning back. Thor kneels over her, facing away, a leg pressed against the outside of each of her thighs. It’s oddly reminiscent of reverse cowgirl. She brings his arms towards her, so he’s grasping his elbows behind his back, and she knows it kills him.The hammer reacts to the shift, and that’s when she realises just how responsive it is; the slight buzz of the connection it’s making with the inside of Thor’s body. Darcy’s suddenly distracted from the beauty of a god riding a star-forged hammer, and engrossed in the sensation of the hum, because it’s just enough to bring her body to attention.

She wonders, abruptly, if being worthy to pick up the hammer will make it react to her, too, and experimentally presses against it. The responding shift in pattern makes her throb. It feels like magic, probably because exposure to magic was a side effect of wedging a magic hammer against your cooch.

The magic hammer seems to _really_ enjoy being wedged against a cooch, however. It goes from something passive to be used, to an active participant. Darcy feels the change, the reaction- the hammer cranks up the motion and she’d swear the little decorative patterns on it are _moving_ , working her with the precision and artistry of something incredibly precise and artistic. Her entire existence is suddenly focused on the feeling. Thor is there, warm and close and moaning, suddenly secondary.

Darcy’s a little overwhelmed, after that; and she’s glad Thor isn’t facing her so he can’t see her ugly holding-back face. He seems to be having a ball, anyway. She’s glad.

Thor suddenly seems to catch on, slows for a second, and does a series of small movements with his hips like he’s trying to gyrate out the konami code.

The hunk of mythology between Darcy’s legs does something transdimensional and titillating; she feels like a rutting ape in comparison, inelegant and primal. It’s like she’s been plugged into some sort of astral circuit, building exponentially like the expansion of the universe. She makes a stunned, animal sound. A tsunami of bliss floods her, beyond what her body can contain. She comes convulsively. Thor is pretty much a god and has the rock hard abs to prove it, but she’s certain she’s leaving scratches on his skin.

In the rosy, dizzy aftermath, when she’s still tingling in places and waiting for the limp noodles her limbs have become come back online, she wonders what in the hell just happened. It was like seeing Cthulhu, but instead of being driven mad by the vastness of it, she’d been driven full-force into orgasm.

Her attention shifts, again, and she steadies Thor in place with her hands. He’s utterly responsive to her every move.

“Okay,” she says, trying not to sound like a _hammer_ just blew her mind. “Okay, um,”

In between the panting, Thor huffs a laugh at her speechlessness.

She decides to talk with her hands, because her and human language aren’t really friends at this point. She reaches around his body, and finally lays hands on his cock.

What if all hammers turn her on, from this point out?

Her fear of hardware fetishism might impede her handjob skills a little, but she’s still good enough. After a little simple stroking, Thor, with his muscular arms kept obediently out of the way, finishes into her cupped hand.

They end up sprawled on the luxuriant sheets, after they’ve cleaned up. Darcy’s too tired to cuddle; she allows her body to lazily overlap his, enjoying the warmth, the rhythm of his breathing. She makes peace with the fact that she might get wet every time she walks into home depot, now, and wriggles into position beside him to whisper in his ear.

“We _gotta_ do that again sometime.”


End file.
